Anthems for a Seventeen Year Old Girl
by messy heart
Summary: AU. In terms of the social hierarchy that inevitably formed in high school, Freddie Benson was at the bottom. Sam Puckett, however, was at the top and never the twain shall meet. Until now, at least.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** This is an AU. The webshow iCarly does not exist. But everyone else does. Yay!

**Prologue.**

In terms of the social hierarchy that inevitably formed in high school, Freddie Benson was at the bottom. That's what happened to people who joined the AV Club and could quote Galaxy Wars at any given time. He wasn't unfortunate looking but he being at the bottom wrung of the ladder meant that looks didn't matter. _He_ didn't matter. Which kinda sucked because as is the high school cliche, the love of his life, Carly Shay, happened to be on the opposite side of the social spectrum. Which meant that she got to sit on the opposite side of the lunchroom, where all the cool and popular kids sat. From where Freddie was seated (five hundred miles away), if he just squinted a bit he could probably make out her beautiful profile.

Carly Shay. Freddie Benson often took an inventory of a the various traits of Carly as means to justify exactly why Carly was his dream girl. Her smile was one—just thinking of her brilliant smile made him smile. Oh! And her shampoo commercial hair was another. She was also incredibly polite to everyone and rarely had a mean thing to say about anyone. She was perfect.

He had been in love with her since the first time he laid eyes on her when she transferred to Ridgeway midway through the seventh grade. It was ironic how she had moved in and still continued to live across the hall from him but didn't know his name. She had, on a number of occasions (the five whole times she'd spoken to him) referred to him as Eddie. And one time as Ferdie. It didn't matter, though, because each and every single time she said his name incorrectly, she had also bestowed him a gorgeous smile and so the insult blurred into something quite inconsequential. The only problem really was that Carly already had a boyfriend. Griffin. Some wannabe bad boy who looked like he walked off the set of some bad television show about high school with his perfectly messy hair and his impeccable grungy look.

"Freddie," Gibby snapped his fingers in front of Freddie's face, "I'm here to inform you that you have your lurve face on again."

Freddie rolled his eyes and took a rather lame stab at his lunch which was presumably meat but one could never be too sure. "I did not," he denied halfheartedly, knowing that that was, in fact, the case. "Just kinda spaced out is all."

"And traveled to Carly Shay planet?" Freddie didn't at all appreciate the knowing way his friend waggled his eyebrows at him.

"Whatever, Gibson."

"When you close your eyes, can you imagine looking into _her_ eyes? Can you imagine kissing her?" This was followed by amazingly annoying kissing sounds.

Freddie was saved from coming up with a retort because it was time for the Sam Puckett show.

Samantha Puckett. Most popular girl in Ridgeway. Captain of the girls' soccer team. A head full of blonde hair and fiercest blue eyes that had the power to stop any high school student in his or her tracks. While Carly's popularity was effortless, Sam ruled the school with an iron fist. Her word was law in the corridors of their school and that law dictated social ranking from bottom to top. She also happened to be Carly's best friend. Which was ironic because once upon a time in elementary school, Sam Puckett had been _his_ best friend.

Then junior high. Then nothing.

Together with the rest of the students, he looked toward the popular kids' table upon which stood Ridgeway's queen bee. She was clad in her team jacket, announcing loudly how everyone should be at their next game _or else_. The last part wasn't really said out loud, merely implied by the threatening look in her eyes. But Freddie wasn't really paying attention. He had his head tilted to the side so that he could get a somewhat clearer view of Carly who had her head thrown back from laughing at whatever it was her boyfriend was whispering in her ear.

Ugh. The sight made his gut clench. A change of scenery was required. Freddie pushed his chair away from the table, gaining the attention of his friend.

"Where you off to?" Gibby asked.

"I don't know. Library?"

"Yeesh, Freddie! No wonder everyone calls us geeks!"

Freddie chucked lightly, patting Gibby on the shoulder before gathering his things and heading out of the cafeteria that was filled with clapping and cheering.

...

Sam Puckett had a problem. She was failing chemistry. Something she normally wouldn't have cared about except that an F in chemistry pretty much meant that she could say goodbye to soccer which just wasn't an option. Soccer was her life. Sure she only started playing the sport because her therapist suggested to her mother that she engage in sports to curb her anger issues, but it became much more than that. It was fun. On the field, Sam felt in control, powerful and feared. It made her feel alive. While her grades weren't stellar, as evidenced by her chemistry grade, Sam also knew that soccer was going to get her into college. Then maybe she could go on to playing the sport professionally.

Or whatever. She wasn't that big on life plans. What was important was to keep playing and do anything she could to ensure that. So she did the unthinkable. She waited purposefully until only a couple of students were left in the room and approached Mr. Henning, the chemistry teacher.

"I was wondering when you were going to talk to me, Miss Puckett."

Sam fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Yeah, well..." What was she supposed to say to that? "I can't fail chemistry, Mr. Henning. I just can't."

All right. The straight approach never failed.

"Perhaps we should start with what you're willing to do to pass."

Unless, of course, one was talking to Mr. Henning.

"Um," she faltered a bit, another thing she never did and she hated herself for that tiny moment that might be perceived as weakness, "Anything?" She forced out the painful word.

"Anything? Do you know what 'anything' entails?"

Grah.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. And maybe a little testily, too. "Doesn't it mean that I'll do everything I can to pass?"

She was about to push further when someone in the room snickered. Correction. When someone made the _mistake_ of snickering. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes quickly zeroing in on the only other person in the room.

"You wanna mind your own business, Frednerd?"

She felt a modicum of satisfaction when the twerp froze in the middle of packing away his one million and one text books in his too large for him backpack. Except the moment was completely ruined because Mr. Henning decided to speak again.

"I didn't know you were there, Freddie."

"Just packing up, Mr. Henning."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, just run away, little Benson," she snarled.

"I'm _not_ running away, little Miss I'm Failing Chemistry," came Freddie's quick retort.

Sam's hands came down hard on their teacher's table, making Mr. Henning (who, thus far, appeared quite uninterested in the whole exchange) jolt in his seat. Spinning around on her heel, she stalked the couple of feet to Freddie and menacingly pushed his neat pile of books off the table.

"Don't even pretend that I can't take you down, _Fredward_," she spat his name out like it was a bad word, "I think I've proved that I can a million times over." Both her fists were clenched and ready for a beating when Mr. Henning interrupted the pre-battle sparring.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Miss Puckett."

Sam gritted her teeth and reminded herself that this was her chemistry teacher, the person upon whose hands lay her fate. The one person who she couldn't pummel to pieces. Well him, and the president of the United States. And maybe the pope.

Beside her, Sam could hear Benson's sigh of relief and that only served to fuel her anger further. "And why is that?" she asked, keeping her tone as even as possible.

"Because Freddie here just might be the person to help you pass chemistry."

...

**Author's Note:**

I haven't read a lot of iCarly fiction to know if this has been done before but I'm pretty sure it has so if someone feels like I've gacked this from them, you have my apologies, it's completely unintentional. It probably feels like I've cliched it up and that, on the other hand, is completely intentional. This here fic was born out of the fact that it was lady's choice for movie night with mah boifran and I took advantage of that and went to town with all the high school chick flicks I could find. So some plot devices will sound familiar but I won't go down the too predictable route. Hopefully.

I don't know why I do it but I like writing about things I know nothing about. First it was Hawaii and now it's soccer. I'm also shit with chemistry so... yeah. Let's not expect big things, okay? However, if you happen to be good at either, please feel free to send me a PM as I'll probably need help with this.

I'm probably in no position to be starting another chaptered fic but this needed typing out.

Title is from Broken Social Scene.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter 1: Used To Be.**

Wow.

Twilight Zone much?

It felt like only yesterday when pigs weren't flying and hell was still a burning inferno. But then someone (she's not saying it's God but whatever) had a sense of humor. At least, that's what she's hoping. This _had_ to be some cosmic prank on her. She would suffer through it for today and hopefully tomorrow everything will be back to normal.

Except things were exactly the same.

Sam Puckett was still failing chemistry. And would continue to fail it until she failed it completely. Unless Meganub decided to throw her a bone and help her out. Which was pretty unlikely. The conversation that had taken place yesterday was painful and a little humiliating. But seeing as how the impossible had been known to happen, who really knew? Nevertheless, she wasn't going to be holding her breath.

Carly had, in being the good best friend that she was, sensed that there was something bothering her. Sam could feel those concerned eyes trained on her through the morning classes they shared and almost half of lunch until the brunette finally gave in and spoke up.

"So what did Mr. Henning say?"

Sam shrugged and continued on trying to shovel some nameless meat into her mouth. This really wasn't a conversation she wanted to have with anyone because talking about it only served to remind her that her life was over. Over. Unfortunately, having Carly Shay for a best friend meant being pestered into submission and after ten minutes of poking and prodding, Sam finally surrendered to the inevitable.

"He said that I'm only going to pass if I ace the exam and get an A on the project."

Carly pouted. "But there's no way you and I can muster an A on that project, _especially_ with Henning as a teacher. I don't think anyone's managed to do that in his class," she added. "What are you gonna do?"

"Benson."

"Excuse me?" Carly laughed. "Did you say you were going to do a benson? What does that even mean? How far behind am I on the slang?"

"No, Benson as in the nub who lives across the hall from you Benson."

"Oh." Recognition registered on Carly's face. "Frederick."

"Fredward," Sam corrected her best friend, now aimlessly poking at the remnants of her lunch. "You seriously still don't know his name? He makes weird, dreamy, I-love-you eyes at you every single chance he gets." Carly scoffed at the idea, but Sam could tell she was flattered by the attention. "And I'm not going to do him, gutter-minded version of Carly... I kinda have to get him to agree to be my partner."

"Oh." Sam waited a second for things to sink in. "Wait, but we're partners."

Sam groaned and pushed her lunch tray away from her altogether. It was an awful day if Sam Puckett wasn't hungry enough to lick her plate. "I _know_. But if I want to give myself even the slightest bit of a chance, I gotta partner with him. He's like the poster child for academic excellence or something. And that's not even the worst part."

"It gets worse?"

"I need to get tutored."

Carly giggled softly behind her hand, all ladylike. Typical Carly. "It's not so bad."

"Are you kidding me? I have to play nice with a geek! A geek who, mind you, told me that he'd quote-unquote 'think about it.'" Sam made air quotes with her hands. "He'd think about it, Carly! People don't think about what I tell them to do. They just do it! But now I'm at the mercy of the King of the Nerds and you're telling me that it's _not so bad_? It's farking awful!"

"For starters, you could _not_ play soccer," Carly pointed out, "Oh, or you could have been partnered with that weird Reuben dude that no one understands. Seriously! Fish do not climb trees! Not to mention that that guy has a mean crush on you. And third—"

"I get it!" Sam doesn't mean to snap but her words do come out rather harsh that they make Carly blink in surprise. Instead of matching Sam's irritation, however, Carly's expression softens in understanding.

"I know how important soccer is to you, Sam. It's the one thing you're really passionate about, the one thing you actually work hard for... I think you should talk to Edwin and ask him again. Oh!" Carly snapped her fingers. "Do you want me to ask for you? I would totally do that for you if you wanted me to and I'm _very_ persuasive when I want to be."

"You'd do that for me?"

Carly reached over the table and pushed on her shoulder. "You're my best friend! Of course I'd do that for you."

"Wow, all right then. Thanks."

Sam had never considered recruiting Carly as a sub to ask the nub for help, but it made perfect sense. He had such a massive crush on Carly that he'd never be able to reject her! Sam mentally rubbed her hands together, pleased that her best friend had offered to do her quite the favor. Perhaps there was hope after all.

"It's not illegal, is it?" Griffin asked as he slipped into the seat beside Carly, who pressed a kiss on his cheek in greeting.

"What's not illegal?" The brunette asked her boyfriend, a soft smile gracing her face. "And where have you been? I sent you a text like twenty minutes ago."

"I, uh, had to find a geek to copy my geometry homework from." There was an odd look that flashed across Griffin's face, one that Sam was quick to catch but Carly was clueless as she rooted around in her bag before successfully pulling out a bright red apple.

"I saved you an apple," Carly said sweetly, handing the apple over to her boyfriend.

The whole exchange made Sam a little queasy. She'd never really liked Griffin but could never pinpoint as to why exactly. Perhaps it was the way he tried too hard to appear like the bad boy from the wrong side of town. The guy's parents were dentists. Dentists. They made Griffin carry floss to school. That's hardly the wrong side of town.

"So what is it that you're gonna do for Sam?" Griffin took a bite out of the apple. "It's not gonna land you in jail, is it?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "You land in jail _once_ and suddenly everything you do is illegal."

"Sweetie," Carly began, giving her a soft but patronizing pat on the hand, "Try four times."

"Eh, potato-tomato. Besides it hasn't happened since I joined the soccer team so all your information is obsolete or whatever." Sam brushed it off with a wave of her hand. "Anyway, meet me at my locker after last period, Shay. We got nerd hunting to do."

"Nerd hunting?" Griffin laughed. "Are you using comic books for bait?"

"No, we're using Pee-wee babies!" Sam snapped. "How is this any of your business?"

"You told her about the Pee-wee babies?"

Oops. Sam had to bite on her lower lip to keep from laughing when Carly gave her a harsh glare. To her defense, she totally forgot that she wasn't supposed to say anything about that. All right. So it's a rather flimsy defense but whatever. See if she cared.

Anyhow, she took it as a sign to make herself scarce when the couple launched into a debate about things Carly could share with Sam and the things she "obviously" couldn't. They were best friends. Of course Carly was going to tell her everything! Griffin should really consider himself lucky Sam didn't mention the Zeebo boxers.

She walked the doors leading out when she realized that she was nearing the Head Nub's table. The table was brimming with nerds probably discussing their next online date with their cyber-girlfriend who was most likely some middle-aged balding dude living in his mother's basement. They looked like a pathetic bunch but Sam couldn't help but think that they're all passing their subjects so that's a bitter one-up on her for sure. Stupid geeks and their stupid GPAs.

"PSA, dweebs: Cybersex causes blindness," she spat venomously.

Oh yeah. She totally ruled this school.

...

Freddie almost peed himself.

The last person he expected to be waiting for him at his locker after the AV club meeting was Carly Shay. Love of his life Carly Shay. Mother of his future children. The keeper of the key to his heart. Yeah, he was waxing poetic. Give him a break.

At first, he thought that he was just lucky that she was waiting around in the vicinity of his locker. But then he realized that her eyes were on him with every step he took (clumsily, he's not very used to having an audience, especially one named Carly) and once he got nearer to his locker he saw that she was leaning against the one directly to the left of his. Even then, though, he was convinced that this was a happy coincidence. He was wrong. Boy, was he wrong.

"Freddie, right?"

Freddie was pretty sure he swallowed his tongue because though he was able to open and close his mouth (which he ended up doing repeatedly) no words came out. No words. No cool 'hey... whaddup, shawty?' or 'how you doin', pretty lady?' or any other suave things that Gibby told him worked on girls. Erm. Maybe being tongue-tied wasn't such a bad thing. He ended up nodding mutely, his cheeks embarrassingly warm.

"Well, I need a favor to ask you."

"Anything!" He winced at how his voice cracked. If Freddie could choose when he was supposed to die, right then and there wouldn't be so bad. His already warm cheeks were flaming now all because puberty had been his worst enemy. First it came later than it should have, leaving him a foot taller than all the other guys in his class and now this. Death by embarrassment.

But Carly giggled softly and said, "Great! It's about Sam."

Although, yeah, he probably should have known that Carly would never just approach him out of the blue, Freddie still felt kinda... hurt. He brushed it off and sighed. He knew exactly what she was going to say and he wondered if he should cut her off then or wait and let her say what was on her mind.

He opted for the latter. "What about Sam?"

"I know that Sam can come off as being a little harsh..." Carly started to explain, but it was obvious by the way she bit her lip that she wasn't quite sure how to market her best friend as a viable partner for the chemistry project. And as much as he really liked her, Freddie couldn't help but feel a little bitter.

Sam had been his best friend. Before Carly appeared, it had been him and Sam and it was weird and ironic how Carly was now explaining Sam to him. He knew Sam. Or at least, he had known her. Granted, years have passed since he was last able to have a decent conversation with his ex-best friend but... A part of him still felt undeniably connected to some part of Sam.

Uh.

That sounded wrong. But still... Something about this just didn't feel fair.

"A _little_ harsh? Do you know how many of my _nerd_ friends have had to suffer wedgies at her diabolical hands? My best friend Gibby had to go to a therapist for months for his PTSD!"

"PTSD?" Carly whispered uncertainly.

"Posttraumatic Stress Disorder!" He didn't mean to scream and especially didn't mean it when Carly took a step back, her eyes wide with apprehension.

"Okay," she said slowly, "But how about we put that aside first? Because... because that happened a while back and let's face it, because of sports, Sam's kinda calmed down a bit."

Freddie shrugged noncommittally and turned to open his locker. He had to admit, though, that she was right. What was once outright hostility had simmered down to a bit of a silent storm with spots of thunder and lightning.

Carly must have sensed that she was getting somewhere in her quest to convince him to give in because she continued to speak. "Imagine if she got kicked off the soccer team. Can you imagine that? Imagine how _angry_ she'll be. Can you? Because I can't. C'mon, Freddie. For the good of Ridgeway..."

Freddie groaned. "Fine."

"Imagine—" Carly paused. "Wait, did you just say fine?"

"Do I really have a choice?" Freddie pulled out the books he needed, shoved them into his backpack before and turned to look at Carly. "Yesterday, I was pretty sure she'd beat me until I caved so I'm just counting my blessings that my nose is still in its original place and I'm not paying rent in the nearest Emergency Room."

Carly chuckled and it was cute and made him smile. He's defenseless against her and it kinda makes him feel like one of those sci-fi heroes who fall in love with the gorgeous girl only to have it result in a series of bad decisions. You know. Like partnering with Sam Puckett.

"If it makes you feel any better, saying yes means that you've saved the school of what would have been a very destructive Sam."

She could've been selling him a piece of crap car and he would have bought it, but that did nothing to ease any of his reservations.

"Being a savior is often a thankless job, though," he pointed out honestly, now shifting from one foot to the other. He was feeling kind of proud of himself for being all... not tripping over himself as was normal when faced with Carly Shay.

"Well, _I'm_ grateful, Freddie Benson." And with her signature hair flip and a wink that almost sent Freddie to his knees, Carly Shay walked away.

He didn't die.

_He didn't die_.

Fumbling a little as he pulled his mobile out of his pocket, Freddie quickly dialed Gibby's number. "Gibby?" he said upon his best friend's greeting. "Carly Shay knows my name and I didn't die!"

He was still on his Carly-induced high while he was on the bus to Bushwell Plaza and it continued as he rode the elevator up to the eighth floor. Rounding the corner, it occurred to him that if he were lucky enough, he might be able to catch Carly going into her own apartment. Well, he caught someone all right. He just wasn't that lucky.

Sam Puckett was waiting for him outside his door.

"What's up, nub? So Carly told me that—"

Freddie cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Listen, Sam. This isn't going to work if you keep calling me names." She would probably put up a fight, he was sure, but then she went and agreed with him. "What? No witty comeback? No cutting retort? Who are you and what did you do with Sam Puckett?"

Sam rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "I know you don't have to do this. And you probably don't even want to do this. I honestly don't know what Carly did to convince you to—never mind. I don't want to know. Anyway, I figured I owed you a big one."

"Seriously?" This was big. He could feel the gears in his head turn. Sam Puckett owing Freddie Benson? This was _really_ big.

He hadn't realized that he had been speaking out loud until Sam cut in. "Yeah, yeah, it's big. Whatever. Can we start getting our geek on or something? I really need those aces, man."

"Okay sure, but we gotta talk about this owing me thing first."

"I knew it. _I knew it_. You're such a little turd—"

Freddie interrupted the beginnings of Sam's diatribe by unlocking the door and pulling her inside. "Yeah, well, you need this little turd to pass chemistry," he said once he had locked the door behind him. "You said you owe me one and I should be able to cash in on that when I want, right?"

"Whatever."

"_Right_?" he repeated, his tone unwavering.

"Okay, okay." Sam sighed. "What do you want?"

"I want a date Carly."

Freddie hadn't anticipated being shoved. Neither did he anticipate the next four that followed, the last one making him fall on his butt.

"What do you think I am?" Sam seethed. "A pimp?"

"It's not like that! I really like her!" Freddie pushed himself up off the floor and wiped his hands against the back of his jeans.

Sam paused for a moment and Freddie wasn't sure but she appeared to consider what he had just said. "What do you think is gonna happen, Fredward?" she asked slowly, none of the usual bite present in her tone. "You go out on a date and she's gonna fall for you and want to be your girlfriend? What fairytale are you living in?"

Freddie shrugged as he moved toward the sofa in the middle of the living room with Sam following close behind him. How was he supposed to explain things to Sam who wasn't exactly known for listening? "I see how special she is," he said simply. "I know you think I'm just infatuated with her—"

"You are."

"—but I'm not," Freddie continued, ignoring Sam's comment. "I really like her."

He watched as Sam bit her lip and twirled her hair around her fingers. In the silence, Freddie was able to realize the weirdness of having this girl sitting on the same sofa she always used to inhabit when they were younger. She didn't look much different. It appeared that over the years she'd managed to tame those wild curls of hers and her hands looked relatively cleaner.

"All right, I'll do it," Sam whispered, cutting into his thoughts. "But I'm not setting you up on a date with Carly."

"Did I hear you correctly? That totally sounded like both a yes and a no."

"Fredward, do you really want some sort of pity date? Because that's totally how she's gonna see it and pity doesn't equal romance. You're gonna have to make _her_ ask you out."

Freddie gaped at her. "There's absolutely no way that that's happening!"

"Dude." If Freddie weren't so flabbergasted, he'd see that Sam was quite offended by his lack of faith in her ability to scheme. "If there's anyone who knows Carly, it's gotta be me. I know exactly what she's looking for and I'm going to help you turn into her dream come true."

...

**Author's Note:**

My unending thanks to all those who reviewed! :D To clarify, because it was asked in one of the reviews, this is definitely a Seddie fic. Erm. There might be parts where it won't feel like it is, but it'll definitely end in a very Seddie way.

And yeah, this is pretty much a running cliche but I don't feel like I care yet. :] Man, I sound awful but I also happen to be dreadfully unapologetic person.

Oh, I changed my pen name!


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two: One of the Rotten Ones.**

Her pear phone beeped at her for the millionth time that day, causing Sam to groan in frustration. Missy Robinson was having the Party of the Year that night and people were expecting her to make an appearance. Making an appearance anywhere that didn't involve the Bensons' apartment was highly unlikely. Something that seriously sucked as it was Day Three of her chemistry boot camp and she was going a little stir crazy from being cooped up inside every after school. Unfortunately, casa Benson was _not_ a a happening place on a Friday night.

She debated whether or not to torture herself by reading the message. Her message inbox was full of unread texts, just sitting there, mocking her, telling her things about the party that she wouldn't be able to attend. Mama loved a good party and she took little comfort in the knowledge that people would take her absence as a negative mark against the Missy and not her. While it would be supremely delicious to get a one-up on Missy who's been trying to usurp the Ridgeway crown from her, having to deal with the insane blathering on about how much of a bitch Sam was to not have gone did not sound like the icing on the cake.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt to read just one message?

Cautiously, as if her mobile would explode if she handled it too roughly, she took the phone out of her bag. Meh. There were several from Carly undoubtedly wondering what time she'd be making her entrance. The others were from other people in their group of friends probably asking the same thing. She checked her watch. 7:30 it read and she groaned. Seriously? She'd been sitting on the Bensons' living room floor, with chemistry books and notes strewn across the coffee table, for about three hours now. No wonder her butt was going numb and she had a headache the size of Texas. When they were younger, Freddie's mom had told them some rhyming thing about the brain being a muscle that needed to be exercised, too. It had sounded so stupid back then but sweet Jeebus it was all making sense now.

"Texting your _boyfriend_?" Freddie asked from somewhere behind her, finished with rooting around for who knew what in that nerd lair he had for a room. He shuffled toward the armchair to her right and sat on one of the armrests.

Idly, she wondered if he still had those ridiculous Galaxy Wars bedsheets. Maybe she could take a picture for blackmail purposes? Nah, the nub probably had some stupid on her in way of baby pictures that his mother had obsessively put together in those scrapbooks that her mother a nd Mrs. Benson got into before everything went _bleargh-kaput_. Or the 'Dark Times' as she referred to it in the rare moment she ever gave it a passing thought. But anyway, yeah, blackmail probably wouldn't work and would most likely end with her being partnerless and that was not a good thing.

A good thing would be passing chemistry. Stupid chemistry.

"My boyfriend?" she echoed when his question finally sank in. She didn't have a boyfriend as far as she knew.

"Jonah."

Oh. "Oh, he's not my boyfriend."

"He's not?"

"He's _not_," she said with a finality that signaled the demise of that conversation topic. And with that, she began stacking the books and notes in a neat pile. It wasn't really something she'd normally do. Neat? Books and notes? That wasn't her. But she was feeling tired and brain had become decidedly mushy. She needed to get out of there soon.

"What are you doing? We're not yet done."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, but we are, dork—" She caught the only other occupant of the apartment clear his throat not so inconspicuously. "I mean, guy who likes books and studying and libraries and spends his weekends playing video games?"

"But we haven't even—I haven't even showed you my color-coded chart," he stammered, gesturing toward his bedroom. "It'll help us with scheduling and... you know we only have about a couple of weeks to do this, right? I'd already made sizable progress in the project before we came into this partnership and I need to brief you on what it is exactly—"

"Shut up," Sam cut him off, "We've been at this for a while now. The past two days, I've gone home in a chemistry-induced daze because of all the stuff you've been trying to hammer into my head. I need a break so," she made a show of stuffing her things into her bag, "I'm gonna go now. Mama needs to scrub all this geekiness off her skin."

There was little satisfaction in seeing the nub's face kinda crumble with disappointment. But beggars couldn't be choosers so she took what she could get. It made her a tiny bit better and with that, she got to her feet and slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Fine, but we'll continue this tomorrow morning, _bright and early_." She couldn't miss the emphasis on the last two words even if she tried.

"Whatever, nu—Benson. I'll see you later."

"Later?"

"Missy's party later."

"I wasn't invited."

Oh, yeah. Oh man she was crazy out of it if she forgot that geeks like Benson didn't get to attend parties on Friday nights. She considered him then, giving him a once over from head to toe. Nope. Everything about him just _reeked_ of nerd. It was pathetic. He was pathetic. And maybe... she was starting to feel a little sorry for him.

"Well, it's Missy's party. It's not gonna be much to begin with so it's not like you're missing out." She didn't know what came over her, saying those words, thinking to comfort him.

He shrugged. "I've never been to a high school party."

"Really? You and your geek—I mean _friends_," she quickly amended, "You don't get down and dirty in a party?"

"Do Galaxy Wars marathons count?"

Okay, in her defense, she totally thought that he was joking. Because... How is something like that _not_ a joke? Honestly, these nubs make it too easy for her sometimes. Anyway, the look on Benson's face kinda made her pause the little laughathon that was going on in her mouth. It was kinda weird, like in the surreal kind of way (if surreal meant what she thought it meant), that she'd never forgotten that look. It had been so familiar once upon a time and was ironic that that look had always been able to police her actions when they were younger. He had always been her gauge for when she pushed someone too far because always seemed to feel everything for everyone. When they were five, she had pushed Timmy Ferguson head first into the sand box and threatened to use him as a trampoline when little Fredward took her by the arm and let the expression on his face speak for him. She had felt immeasurably guilty and she hated that he could do that. But once the friendship was over and junior high began and popularity factored in, she knew that she had to do her best to build up any immunity that she could to that look in his eyes. But she never saw it again. Not even when she gave him a wedgie or shoved him down the bleachers or told everyone that he was a test tube baby and his mother was a cyborg. Never.

Until now, anyway. And she was loathe to admit that it still had the same effect on her. A punch to the gut.

"They don't," she replied gruffly and stomped the remaining the steps to the front door and flung it open. She could hear his hurried footsteps behind her.

"Can I come?"

Sam had heard about moments in one's life that defined the sort of person you were. She wasn't a bad person. Promise. She just enjoyed wielding what power she had and if that power had, maybe, a slightly negative impact on other people—physical or otherwise—then that was just incidental. Right? Plus, Missy's party didn't have the exclusivity that the wannabe always craved but could never pull off. So it didn't really count toward social suicide... especially if she ditched him halfway through. _Maybe_ he might survive...

Wait. Was she actually considering bringing the nub along?

"I don't think so, Fredward."

"Aw, c'mon! You know you haven't done anything as far as holding up your end of the deal."

Crap. His Nubbiness made a good point.

She turned around and leaned against the door frame of the Bensons' front door. "Listen, Benson. I know I'm awesome and all but I don't have enough time to pass chemistry _and_ make you less of a dork. We gotta do this one at a time—"

"Yeeaaah," was the drawled out reply, "I don't think so."

"You don't think so?" Were her ears deceiving her?

"I don't trust you." He had his arms crossed over his chest with a smirk firmly in place.

Crap. His Nubbiness made another good point. She wouldn't trust herself either.

"How about this? We go over to Carly's and you bask in all her loveliness for a couple of hours before _she and I_ head to the party. Because let's face it, Benson, you going to a high school party right now is like a fatty of a lamb asking a pack of wolves if they're hungry."

"That's not fair," he protested lamely.

Sam rolled her eyes, then pushed him to the side and started walking toward his bedroom. "We're in high school. When has high school ever been about what's fair?" She didn't wait for his permission before she slammed the door open, a satisfying bang ringing out when the heavy wood made impact with the wall. A quick beeline for his closet, she threw those doors open with equal force and her brow furrowed as she considered what was before. "Oh man, Fredward."

"What now?" replied the unfortunate guy in question from where he stood, examining what damage Sam did to his wall.

"Please, please, _please_ tell me that your mother doesn't still shop for your clothes."

At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. "Stay out of my things," he warned her as he took a couple of slow steps toward her and Sam fought the urge to form a cross with arms in an effort to ward off the nerd germs.

She threw a hanger at him which clipped his ear. Meh. Her aim's been kinda off lately. "You think I _want_ to do this? I'm scared I'll scratch myself on something and wake up tomorrow morning with braces and a pocket-protector, nerd senses a-tingling. Your mom's a nurse, right? Maybe she has surgical gloves somewhere that I can borrow..."

"Sam." He sounded annoyed which made her annoyed. Just a few minutes ago he was accusing her of not holding up her end of the deal and now she gets all this grief?

"Dude, I am not bringing you over to Carly's looking like a..." She took note of his raised eyebrow "Um, like a... Well, like _you_. I can't bring you over looking like _that_. We needs ta make you purty so you don't embarrass me."

"Ugh, fine." Whee! Sam liked it when people surrendered to her will. "But I'm not wearing skinny jeans."

"Me making you wear skinny jeans is the least of your problems and _eww_... I hates me a pair of skinny jeans on a guy." She gave him a look that conveyed her disgust before she went through his clothes one by one. This was gonna take a while. "I'll need something to eat. Preferably something of the pork variety. Or junk food. And something with caffeine."

"I have tofu, beet chips and diet Peppy Cola."

"I hate you," she muttered as she pulled out a pair of jeans that didn't look as baggy as the ones he normally wore, "And your little dog, too!"

Sam could hear his chuckle as he left his room and she was determined to kick his ass if he came back with anything that said diet or healthy or whatever. She pulled out a long-sleeved polo shirt that was could probably fit the entire hockey team, plus the coach. Benson seemed to think it was fashionable to wear clothes that were more suited to a person who was double his size.

"The nineties called and they want their wardrobe back!" she shouted, hoping he could hear her from where he was in the apartment.

He did. "They want their joke back, too, Puckett!" he yelled back

She huffed. At least she wasn't the one who owned the super-sized khakis with grandpa-style _front pleats_. Hah. Unfortunately, fifteen minutes later and she still hasn't found anything promising aside from the not too horrible pair of jeans and a white v-neck shirt that was probably intended as an undershirt given that it appeared to actually fit properly.

But it'll have to do.

...

Thus far, Freddie had only been inside the Shays' apartment three times. One time was when he caught Spencer Shay, Carly's older brother and legal guardian, trying to get his front door open with arms full of grocery bags. The older man showed quite the valiant effort but seeing as how the carton of eggs at the top of one of bags seemed to want to wobble dangerously off balance, Freddie decided to be the good neighbor and help the guy out. The apartment turned out to be larger than their own and a lot more... colorful. The next two times were for when his mother sent him over for equally neighborly things like borrowing a cup of sugar (second time) and then going back and asking if they have brown sugar instead of the white (third time). (They didn't.)

The difference between those three times and this upcoming fourth time was that he was excited then and now, he's nervous. Because those other three times only involved Spencer (although he had always fervently wished for Carly to make an appearance during one of his forays into unmarked territory) and this one time is to see Carly. To actually see her.

He hadn't counted on her boyfriend being there too, though.

"So..." Griffin said slowly as the two of them sat in the Shays' living room while the girls were upstairs giggling over something Carly was showing Sam. Freddie was lounging on the sofa while Griffin occupied the armchair.

"So," Freddie echoed.

"You live next door. I didn't know that."

"Yup."

"Cool."

Silence.

"So..." Griffin began again. "You're helping Sam out with chemistry."

"Yup."

"Cool."

Silence.

"So..."

"So," Freddie repeatedly obediently despite wanting to tear his hair out.

"You work out."

Freddie looked down at his biceps that were now more prominent without the protective layers of clothing. The whole weight lifting thing had been his mother's idea to give him a chance to defend himself "on the dangerous streets of Seattle" and he rather enjoyed having a means to work off tension when school (or his mother) became too hard to deal with.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Cool."

Silence.

Honestly, inasmuch as Freddie would like to steer the conversation toward a more enlightening topic, he was so very much unsure of what was happening. Sure, he was dressed in clothes that Sam had declared to "not stink so much of dork" and so his confidence a little more... well, _more_. But he still couldn't deny who he was—someone who liked learning and technology and sci-fic/fantasy movies. Oh, and Carly Shay. And this guy was Carly Shay's boyfriend.

How was he supposed to beat out this guy?

It was a universal truth that the dude was a looker. By his calculations, he had roughly a snowball's chance in hell of stealing the guy's girlfriend. Right. Sure, Freddie knew he had stuff going on for him like...

Anyway, whatever Sam's nonexistent plan was, it was doomed to fail.

"So..." Griffin tried again.

"So."

"You going to Missy's party?"

Ugh. Could someone please stop bringing up the party that he couldn't go to? It made him feel like the little kid who got stuck at an ice cream parlor but couldn't have any. It sucked. He didn't need to be reminded of how lowly his social status was. It was the weekend! He got enough of that during the rest of the week. So he just shrugged and ran his hand through his hair in what hopefully seemed like a Rebel Without A Cause way (which it probably wasn't) and proceeded to lie through his teeth.

"Probably not. Don't feel like it."

It seemed to be the right thing to say because Griffin chuckled. "Yeah, I get what you mean. Missy gets a little too controlling sometimes. Remember her last party?" No. Freddie did not. "When she freaked out because people started jumping in the pool? Missy tried fishing everyone out with the leaf net but then Sam starts dumping all the food in the pool before jumping in, screaming 'I've always wanted to swim in food!'"

Freddie laughed at the vision of Sam doing backstrokes in a saturated fat-infested waters. Yup. That was something only Sam would do.

"So how are you finding Ridgeway so far?"

Huh?

"What do you mean?" Freddie asked slowly, trying not to believe that Griffin was seriously asking that question.

Griffin stretched out his arms and legs, his feet landing on the coffee table, ankles crossed. "Yeah, you're new right?"

"Dude, we've been classmates since the second grade," Freddie answered and tried not to sound too bitter. But it was kinda painful knowing that he has reached the point of being as nonexistent as Sam's plan to make him desirable to Carly. He was invisible. It more than sucked. It was seriously depressing.

"Seriously?" And Griffin genuinely seemed dumbfounded and Freddie couldn't quite decide if it was a good or bad thing. "That's so weird." Griffin was about to say something else when the girls came stomping down the short staircase, whispering into the other's ear as they came to a stop behind the couch.

"How's male bonding time coming along, twerps?" Sam asked and upon turning around to look at her, Freddie noticed that she was carrying an empty plate. A greasy empty plate. "Hope you've been keeping everything PG in here."

"Do you always have to be disgusting?" Freddie's question was meant to be rhetorical but somehow he knew that she'd answer it anyway.

"I'm not disgusting. I'm awesome. There's a difference, Benson."

He was about to launch into an explanation of what rhetorical questions were when Carly sat down beside him on the sofa. Carly Shay. Hee. Rhetorical what? Only when Sam's hand hit the back of his head did he realize that he was staring. Crap. He was supposed to be cool and suave. Not drooling and crazy-eyed. But how was he supposed to remember that when she was smiling at him like that and her hair was all nice and wavy like that and she was winking at her boyfriend like that?

Oh.

Meh.

"We were just talking about Missy's party," Griffin contributed to the conversation and Freddie kinda wished that he didn't because he could feel Sam's eyes boring twin holes into his skull. Before coming over to the Shays', they had agreed not to mention the party. Well, more like she had her hands around his neck and he had no choice but to agree to everything she said.

"Oh, are you going, Freddie?"

As was the norm whenever he attempted to have a conversation with Carly, Freddie opened his mouth and alas, no words were to be had. It was humiliating. He did have an extensive vocabulary that he could boast of but what use was it when he couldn't manage to keep up this conversation. So he closed his mouth again because that was safer and looked less idiotic than just leaving it wide open.

Carly bit on her lower lip, obviously to keep from laughing at his weirdness. Yeah. He didn't blame her.

"Well, you _should_ come with us," she said kindly, earning a groan from Sam.

Griffin seconded the motion. "Yeah, dude. I'll introduce you to our classmates."

"_Griffin_," Carly admonished her boyfriend and a slight blush painted her cheeks. Man, she was pretty. "Anyway, you should totally go."

Before he could answer, Sam's hand clamped down on her best friend's shoulder. "Carly?" she bit out, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

By the looks of it or, more appropriately, the sounds of it, the conversation between the girls didn't turn out to be very polite. There were raised voices and heated tones and a lot of grunting which he assumed was more Sam than Carly. When they returned to the living room, the brunette looked victorious and the blonde didn't even spare them a glance as she went straight for the kitchen and opened the fridge.

"Sam and I thought—"

"_Nyeah_." The weird sound came from the kitchen and that clued Freddie to the fact that the sentiment was not, in fact, shared by Sam.

"—that maybe you'd like to come with us? It'll be fun!" Carly looked genuinely excited with the idea of him tagging along and she looked so pretty when she smiled at him like that. He files that smile away into a cabinet in the back of his head. This was a rare occurrence that should be properly documented.

He groaned inwardly at his trail of thought. He _was_ such a nerd.

"If it's no trouble," he said slowly.

"It's no trouble at all," the love of his life insisted

"Yeah, dude. It'll be fun," the love his life's boyfriend added. "I heard Jonah scored a keg or something. It'll be great."

"Jonah?"

Freddie watched as Carly raised an eyebrow, her curious eyes focused on the girl moving around in the kitchen. There was also some worry there and Freddie couldn't help but feel a little worried himself. He didn't even know what that was about. It wasn't hard to deduct that it had to do with Sam and Jonah but as Sam earlier insisted, they weren't together. And he believed her, despite the rumored numerous times the two had been caught in compromising situations. He never did believe them and not just because they were rumors but... part of him had just always known that it wasn't true.

Sam made another alien sound that was a cross between a grunt and a snort—a snurt? But that was enough to convey her unwillingness to offer her two cents to the conversation.

The next two hours were divided accordingly: flipping through the three hundred or so channels offered by the Shays' cable (Freddie had to restrain himself from asking about the History channel by biting on his hand) and then arguing about what kind of pizza to get (_baconbaconbaconhamhamham_ was Sam's insistence, even placing her fingers in her ears, refusing to hear anything else), order the pizza Sam wanted, waiting for it to get delivered and then eating said pizza. Freddie then decided that there wasn't much difference between popular kids and unpopular ones. Pizza and television? Seriously?

In an effort to score brownie points, he offers to help cleanup and ends up washing the few dishes they used. He was in the middle of rinsing when Sam walked over. She had changed out of the shirt she was in earlier (probably due to the fact that her poor etiquette caused her spill hot sauce all over) and had on a pristine white tank top that he surmised belonged to Carly because it was a little too tight around the chest. Not that he noticed. Well, yeah, he noticed. But not that he was looking. Okay, he was looking. But he was a guy with the eyes of a guy. They tend to wander.

It was slightly unnerving how she stood there, watching him as he was finishing up with the dishes in silence. When he was done with the chore, he wiped his hands on the dishrag and turned to face her expectantly.

She sighed. "Don't you have like a friend or something?"

"Are you insinuating something?"

"Whoa, heel boy. I was only gonna ask if you have a friend that can tag-along? That way you don't end up being the only nerdling there and, I don't know," her shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug, "I figure you'll stick out like a sore thumb if you end up in a sad little corner with no one to talk to."

He was a little stunned. It was a surprisingly thoughtful of Sam to have suggested that. And then he realized that that probably meant that she and her friends would be abandoning ship (the ship, in this case, being him) once they got to party. He tried not to feel offended. It still meant something that they were gonna let him come with them. Right?

So he nodded a little stiffly and replied, "Yeah, I can call someone."

...

**Author's Note:**

Thank you to all the reviews! I've been trying to reply to all the reviews but I have some stuff to deal with that's been taking up my time. I'll try to reply soon, though and I hope this chapter didn't disappoint anyone.

This turned out longer than I expected and it didn't even include the actual party. I'm actually torn about writing the party scene into the beginning of the next chapter. I should probably decide on that soon, too, seeing as how I should get to writing it.

Since I know some will ask, I will address the Sam-Freddie rift in either one of the next two chapters. And no, it has nothing to do with Carly. :] Dun dun dun dun! Can someone guess?

None of my stuff is beta-ed! If anyone wants to volunteer/recommend a beta-reader then I would be enormously grateful!

Songs: She's So Lovely by Scouting for Girls, I Am Not A Robot by Marina and the Diamonds, Little Trouble Girl by Sonic Youth


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three: And He Liked You For That.**

They made it to the party as the hour was closing in on eleven. He didn't really get that part; the whole 'the later you go, the cooler you are' didn't make much sense. But what did he know? Apparently not much. He'd been excited for his first taste of high school partying but it had quickly gone down the drain the second they made it through the front door, as he had a feeling it would. Sam popped in and out of the kitchen, leaving with a bowl of pretzels in her hands and a couple of cans of soda. Then she promptly commandeered the large sofa in the living, much to the occupants' consternation. She also refused to talk to anyone, much to Freddie's consternation. But he knew that that would be expecting too much. Carly and Griffin had disappeared a while ago and so he was left there to defend for himself and no, all that time in the gym wasn't going to help him in high school warfare. Thankfully, he wasn't left twiddling his thumbs for too long because Gibby soon showed up.

"Do I look okay?" was Gibby's first question when they met up outside the Robinsons' home.

"You look the way you always look," Freddie pointed out.

"Yeah, but I never know if that's a good thing or not." And honestly, Freddie didn't know what to say to that because they've never been the type who gave any notice to what was being worn by whom.

"Who cares?"

But they both knew the answer to that. Everyone cared.

Missy's house was a modest two-story in a nice neighborhood, the type of house you wish you grew up in with the dainty little front lawn the porch with the pretty swing. The pool at the back was smaller than he thought it would be but, still, it was a pool and he could imagine his eight-year-old self cannonballing into the blue waters soon followed by a raucous Sam body-slamming into his tiny self. (It was weird how all his childhood memories, real and imagined, involved Sam Puckett who now wanted nothing to do with him.) The party host must have been pleased that no one was swimming but there was a scattering of couples making out in the backyard and some loud laughter coming from a group at the far end.

Inside there was a completely different party going on. There was some sort of dance music blaring through the sound system, the beat steadily reverberating off the walls, the living room had filled up with people, mostly girls, swaying drunkenly to the music. Freddie was quick to note that Sam was no longer spread across the sofa and the only signs that she had even been there at all were the overturned bowl of pretzels and the empty (and severely crumpled) soda cans. The rest of the couch bore the weight of couples displaying varying degrees of wildly inappropriate behavior.

Gibby thought that the party would be good practice ground to use his 'lines' on the 'ladies' which wasn't very well received. In fact, witnesses might describe it as having been ill-received if eye rolls and slaps across the cheek were any indication. But because his best friend was even _more_ socially backward than Freddie, Gibby's having the time of his life.

"This party," Gibby shouted over the music, "Is _awesome_!"

Freddie laughed at his friend, shaking his head as he watched Gibby shimmy and sway through the crowd of dancing bodies, showing off his 'cool' moves a la Pulp Fiction. "Just don't lose your shirt over this!" It was joke, sure, but he seriously hoped that shirtless Gibby wouldn't be making an appearance.

Thirst was beginning to become a concern and Freddie somehow maneuvered himself to the entrance of the kitchen. Or, rather, what might have been a kitchen at some point in the past but under the layers of junk food, sticky puddles on the floor, plastic cups _everywhere_, nothing was for certain. There was a small group of four guys in kitchen and they were all huddled over the keg that was stationed near the kitchen sink. Freddie figured it would be best to keep to himself and try his luck with finding some unopened soda can much like Sam had scored earlier in the evening.

Except, stealth wasn't a high school subject and drew attention to himself Freddie did.

"Yo," one of beer guards called out to him, "Benson, right?"

Freddie gulped before turning on his heel, the kitchen suddenly feeling incredibly smaller and suffocating. He quickly recognized one of them to be Jonah, Sam's _not _boyfriend, and the one who had called out to him was Gary Wolf. This was very much starting to look like something out of Animal Channel where there was prey and there were... predators.

"Yeah," Freddie answered slowly, unsure where this was going.

"_Dude_, thanks for letting me copy your history notes the other day. Mr. Devlin's been a mean sonofabitch lately."

Freddie saw it coming, but it did nothing to unlame the way he returned Gary's complicated macho handshake thing that men apparently do. (He and Gibby liked to do this two-finger salute. It was simple and easy.) He let out a nervous laugh. There was no clear indication of where this was heading and he didn't like that. What he did like was knowing things.

"You want a beer?" asked one of the guys who _couldn't_ be a high school student. He was impossibly large and hulking and Freddie was pretty sure that the guy could kill him with one hit from that giant fist. It was very perplexing.

Freddie shook his head a little to get rid of the disturbing thoughts. "Uh, yeah," He'd never had a beer before and was honestly curious how it tasted, "Sure, why not?"

"Atta boy, Benson." Jonah clapped him on the back. Hard. It might have dislodged his right lung from its ribcage. "Gotta live a little, you know?"

The door swung behind them followed by a loud, "Jonah! I've been looking _every_where for you!"

"Missy Missy _Missy_," Jonah singsonged, "Sounds like you need someone to unbunch your panties. Tell me, what color are they?"

Missy stamped her foot indignantly, narrowly missing one of the many puddles of unnamed liquid on the floor. Freddie was somewhat awed at how she was able to still appear elegant despite being pissed off, standing in the middle of chaos and having overly sexualized comments thrown at her.

"Wait, _Freddie Benson_?" Missy seemed to notice him standing there for the first time and looked at him with a discerning eye from head to toe then back up again. "What are _you_ doing at my party?"

Oh chiz.

"Benson's with us, Missy," Gary offered, lifting his cup in a sort of mock salute, "He's cool, you're cool, we're all cool here."

Freddie held his breath as Missy's fierce eyes narrowed one last time before she turned to face Jonah once again. Jonah, on the other hand, seemed to be basking in all this angry female attention.

"Come _on_, Jonah." And with that, she turned on her freakishly high heels and stomped out the kitchen.

Jonah let out a low whistle, making the others laugh. "What can I say, boys? I like my bitches crazy!" He gave them an exaggerated bow then left the kitchen.

Freddie was confused. "Where are they going?"

His question was met by more laughter. "Benson, c'mon! Do we really need to give you the birds and bees talk?"

"But what about Sam?"

"Sam Puckett?" Gary reached over for a fresh cup and started filling it up with beer. "Jonah calls himself a 'free agent' which, in layman's terms, means that he is a douchebag. Puckett's a sweet girl when she wants to be, you know?" Freddie almost missed the look of unmistakable warmth on his newly acquired friend's face. Huh. "Anyway, Missy's all right, I guess," Gary continued, "And Valerie's... well, I don't entirely get why Jonah's messing around with her but whatever. To each his own, right?"

Freddie nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak. Was this how things were done around here? Friends allowed their friends to be jackasses? He wondered briefly if Sam knew about this and quickly decided that Sam was never the type to let this stuff get past her—she'd always taken of herself. For Freddie to worry about her would be rather useless, though, he knew that a small part of him would always look out for her A shiny red plastic cup was placed in his hands and he swirled the contents a little bit before taking a deep breath and drinking. It wasn't that bad. He had expected something acrid and foul-tasting and while it was a little on the bitter side, there was also a bit of a sweet aftertaste there. He drank some more and found it got slightly better with each succeeding swallow. Only when he was half-way through his drink did he pay attention to the conversation that was going on. The three appeared to be talking about something that came as a surprise to Freddie.

"Did you say Nug Nug?" Freddie asked slowly for surely, he wasn't inebriated enough to be hearing things.

"Duh," said The Hulk Masquerading As A High School Student. Seriously. The dude was gigantic. "You know, from Galaxy Wars?"

"Only the best movie in forever?" added Gary whose eyes were wide with disbelief.

Whoa. This was... weird.

"Yeah... _I_ know that, just confused about how you guys know that," Freddie replied, blinking his eyes. "I'm not drunk yet, am I?"

His three new friends laughed and they all clapped him on the back. _Ow_. Then proceeded, for the next half-hour or so, to discuss all Galaxy Wars films, sharing favorite scenes and bemoaning some poor plot points. Girls came in and fawned over Gary who politely turned them away with a good-natured smile and the excuse of wanting to spend time with his 'boys'. While Freddie always knew that he was a boy (something like anatomy was hard to miss), his evolution into one of Gary's 'boys' was abrupt and surprising. In fact, he felt like he missed entirely how the entire thing had transpired. It was odd. Not that he was complaining because he was enjoying himself immensely. Still, he was feeling quite proud of himself. He was holding his own and not at all like Sam had assumed things would go down. He didn't even have to invite Gibby—

He had forgotten about Gibby. He sent a quick text message to his best friend, telling him to come to the kitchen, where it was... safe. Well, relatively safe, Freddie amended quickly in his head after watching High School Hulk crush a soda can against his forehead.

Five minutes later and Gibby was pushing his way through the kitchen, decidedly shirtless. The limp garment hung from his hand and his chest displayed, instead, an unattractive sheen of sweat.

"Shirtless dude," said the guy who Freddie had yet to learn the name of, "All right." He gave Gibby a high-five. "My dad totally has a shirt like that!"

Freddie cringed but then realized that all his assumptions about what would be considered the wrong or right thing to say had been pretty much inaccurate. So instead of Gibby dressing up like a middle-aged father with a teenager being a bad thing, it wasn't like that at all. Everything in this realm of reality was confusing to Freddie who had the habit of calculating everything. He watched as the guys started playfully dissing each other, Gibby quickly getting a handle on things and thankfully pulling his shirt back on.

Freddie's ringtone pierced through the air and he groaned when he saw that it was his mother calling him. Of course. The only other person who ever called him regularly was standing beside him. He signaled to the other guys that he was just going to take the call outside which resulted in some silly catcalls. If they only knew. Freddie ran up the stairs to the second floor, hoping to find a quiet place where he could take the call. He was about to open one bedroom door when the image of him walking in on a couple made his hand stop. Fortunately the next door didn't appear to have a lock on it and he correctly guessed it to be a closet.

"Mom?" he said into his mobile after slipping inside the tiny room. "How's work? How's the hospital? How's working in the hospital?" He winced. Man, he should really stop blathering on whenever he became nervous.

"It's fine, thank you for asking. I just wanted to know how you were doing. I really do dislike having to work this shift because I hardly get to see you anymore, but I'm switching shifts next week so everything will be back to normal." His mother sounded sad but he couldn't help but be a little depressed himself at the thought of once again having to put up with her constant babying. "Now, it's getting late. Do get to bed soon, all right? Don't spend all your time in front of your computer."

He obediently agreed and bid his mother goodbye. He wasn't sure how he was going to get around tutoring Sam at his place now that—

"Are you _fucking_ kidding me, Jonah?"

He'd know that voice anywhere. Sam. And Jonah? Oh chiz.

"_Missy_?" He could hear Sam hiss the name like a curse. "What the fuck, Jonah?"

"C'mon, Sammy. You know you're number one." Freddie almost threw up. Was this guy for real?

"Number one? Are you effin' serious? I practically catch you with your pants around your ankles and you're telling me that I'm your _number one_? Do I look stupid?" A heavy thud against the wall followed Sam's rant, followed by a squeak of pain.

"Okay, fine. So maybe no one's number one; but you're certainly tied for number two!"

What followed that asinine statement was a string of expletives that would have had his mother rushing to the confessional just for hearing them accompanied by one very male shout and then another, much louder, one.

"Don't you even think of coming near me again," Sam spat and Freddie assumed that the hurried footsteps that went down the stairs belonged to her.

Freddie cracked the door open and through the small sliver saw Jonah (still groaning) slip into one of the doors, letting the door click behind him. The coast was clear, but Freddie still wasn't sure of what he'd just witnessed. Or heard, really. His thought immediately went to Sam. She would probably be on the warpath right now and that wouldn't bode well for the well-being of the greater Seattle area.

Oh chiz.

Quickly making up his mind, he began starting to push his way through the crowd, looking for those blonde curls attached to a small yet dangerous girl. He found her along the side of the house where he and Gibby saw a few kids smoking earlier. She was the only one there and he wouldn't put it past her to have scared the others away so that she could have a bit of peace. She leaned against the wall of the house, eyes closed though her face was tilted to the sky.

"Whoever you are, go away."

And no matter how many times his mother had told him to follow warning signs, he decided to ignore this one. "Everything okay?" he asked tentatively.

Sam opens one eye, sees him standing there and closes it again. "Was it just me or did I not just tell you to go away?"

"It was just you." He shrugged his shoulders. It's only a few steps until he's standing in front of her. "You okay? You know you can talk to me, right? I mean, no one's around so it's not like—"

"Okay, shut up for a second before you end up saying something that will give me no choice but to hurt you."

He promptly shut his mouth.

"All right then," she began, her eyes opened and he can see the slight hesitation in the blue depths, "Promise not tell anyone?"

"Who would I tell?" Because, really, who would he tell? Gibby? Who would Gibby tell? His little brother?

"That's a good point," she conceded. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "I can't stand this."

"This?" He wasn't quite following. What he had expected was her going on a rant about how guys were dumb and how Jonah was a dickhead or just something that looked very similar to an angry rhino. And this wasn't it. Instead it was sort of like... a lonely penguin. He really needed to stop watching the Animal Channel.

Sam gestured toward the rest of the party. "_This_?" she repeated, clearly exasperated with his slow pick-up. "I don't know..." Her eyes closed again. "I'm just tired, I guess."

"You wanna go home? Lemme bring you home."

She shook her head, a sardonic laugh escaping her lips. "Oh man, Fredward. Why are you so effing _nice_? Always _so_ nice. It's disgusting. You shouldn't be nice. Being mean? That's easier. So much easier..." He didn't have the heart to tell that she was babbling. Neither did he have the guts, really. He figured pointing out such a fact would likely warrant a torrent of punches and kicks from the blonde.

"You're not—"

"Mean?" Both eyes were open once again. He recognized the challenging look she gave him, as if daring him to continue. "That's rich coming from you... I'm hardly kind or virtuous. That's Carly, the love of your life. Me? I'm the bitch. And everyone hates a bitch."

"They don't hate you."

"Well, they don't like me." She shrugged and her eyelids went heavy until they shut completely. "It's okay. I don't like them. So it's fair and all that chiz."

Chiz. Hearing her say that word made him chuckle. "I thought high school wasn't about being fair."

"Somehow I knew you were gonna say that. You always use my own words against me."

"Well," he lifted his hand to scratch the back of head, "For what it's worth, _I_ don't hate you." He didn't know how long he wanted to be able to tell her that. Too long, maybe, because it'd been stuck in his head for as long as he can remember. Perhaps, once upon a time, they had convinced themselves that they did and acted accordingly. But they weren't the ones at fault. He'd realized that somewhere along the way. They were the... victims. If they could even call themselves that. Or maybe just the leftovers. He'd never been sure.

He copied her stance, back against the wall, eyes silently mapping out the stars. It was a clear night and it seemed that all the stars were in attendance as they twinkled at him. What a weird and unexpected night.

"Nice. Fredward Benson doesn't hate me. That's exactly what I wanted for Christmas."

"A sarcastic reply from Sam Puckett. What a surprise."

...

"The public library?"

Sam stood outside the imposing structure, eyes blinking rapidly in disbelief. She turned to the nub beside her and immediately whacked him over the head, rewarding her ears with a groan.

"What the hell was that for?" asked Fredward 'Books Give Me Orgasms' Benson. Seriously. A library? Did he want to kill her? There was absolutely nothing more disgusting than this.

She shook her head adamantly. "There's absolutely no way I'm going to go in there. I know you get off on, like, the smell of old books or like the glue they use to bind the pages together or whatever but I am going to _kill_ you if you force me to enter that gawdawful building." She turned on her heel and then started walking briskly down the street. Okay, so maybe she was running. Really, really fast. What? She just hated libraries, okay?

She stopped a couple of blocks down where there was a small park and sat down on one of the benches, positive that there was no way the nub—

"What was that all about?"

Sam closed her eyes and prayed. _Hey, God, if you do exist_—_and I'm hoping you are because this is turning out to be the universe's best prank _ever—_could you please get rid of the dork? Oh, and I need to pass chemistry. Thanks! Aaaand maybe you could throw in some money? Like a million or so. If not, maybe like a lifetime supply of ham. Okay, thanks again!_

Oh, if only life were that easy. The SupahNubbah sat beside her on the bench, a clear sign that he was still living and that she still needed his help to pass chemistry. No money or ham either. Her weekend was proving to be crap.

"I don't like libraries, okay?"

"Why don't you—"

Exasperated with his badgering, Sam pushed him off the bench and onto the ground. "I just don't, okay? Can we go somewhere else? Like, to your place or something? I take back everything I said about you living in a nerd lair and your mother keeping dead corpses in your hallway closet to practice CPR."

"What?"

Okay, she could see how he might find that offensive. "Well, at least now everyone thinks that your mother is an expert at CPR," she pointed out and the look in his eyes made her rethink the logic of having done so. "What? Is that not a good thing? People like being experts at stuff, right? I mean, don't you enjoy being an expert at nubbiness?"

Hmm. She should seriously learn how to quit while already ahead. But she's Sam Puckett. She's not a quitter. Instead she took in the twerp's glare as he pushed himself off the ground and back on the seat next to her and continued, "Don't give me that look. I'm just trying to speed things up by making assumptions. Stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"I don't know!" She gestured at his face. "You have naturally sad eyebrows, so stop!"

The nub reached up to touch his eyebrows self-consciously. Did he really not know that? His eyebrows were part of what made the whole guilt trippy look thing seem so... guiltifying. And shut up. She knew that wasn't a word. It should be, though. Maybe if she wrote to the dictionary company—

"I do not have naturally sad eyebrows!" Benson whined, much like a seven-year-old not allowed to watch his Saturday morning cartoons.

Oh chiz. She totally missed her Saturday morning cartoons. Her life officially sucked.

"The girl's right. Ya got yerself a pair of sad lookin' eyebrows there, kid," said a hobo who was suddenly standing in front of them and flashing them a remarkably toothless grin.

Sam grinned up at the hobo who had come out of nowhere to support her statement. Because those really were sad eyebrows. Half of her wanted to knit a scarf for his eyebrows to make them happy and other half recognized the fact that knitting required effort and this whole situation with the chemistry thing and blahblahblah (everything else) had her all efforted out. Besides, he was back to wearing his shapeless mountains that he liked to call clothes. Apparently, dorks took some sort of vow of dweebiness.

She high-fived the hobo, which was probably not a very hygienic thing to do. Geeky McGeekerson made this face that looked like he wanted to puke so any regret she might have felt was quickly erased.

"That's disgusting, you know," Freddie said as they watched the hobo walk away.

"Your face is disgusting," she answered automatically. "All right, c'mon, let's just go over to your place." She slipped her bag which had fallen onto the bench back on her shoulder. She was about to stand when she felt a hand clamp down on her wrist. "Huh. I'm sorry, but since when did you think it was okay to touch me?"

He quickly took his hand off her and was smart enough to look sheepish. "We can't go back to my place; my mom's there."

Oh. Oh chiz.

"You haven't told her yet, have you?" she asked even though she already knew the answer to that. He shook his head. "Well, I haven't told mine either so..."

"And you're scared of libraries."

"Libraries are creepy! With their millions of books that have millions of words! Creepy! How am I the only person who sees this?"

He snorted. At her. "Because you're ridiculous?"

"Your face is ridiculous!" she yelled then hit his shoulder. Hard. And he ends up on the ground. Again. What? Wasn't her fault the nerd was weak.

"Okay, you gotta stop doing that!"

"I'll stop when your face stops looking like that!" Sam growled and then shoved him for good measure. Plus, it made her feel good. Yeah. That totally made her feel better and it helped her think better, too. "Okay, this is easy. We gotta find a place that we can crash and not be bothered while we do all this nerderrific stuff—" She caught the nub raise his eyebrow, despite having just taken another tumble to the ground."Fine! Chemistry stuff! Happy?"

He certainly looked pleased. "How about a friend's house?" he suggested and Sam knew exactly what he was going to say next. "Maybe, I don't know... Carly's place?" The hope in his eyes almost inspired a puke-a-thon in her mouth. And he called her disgusting?

"Yeah, not gonna work, Fredward. Carly's over in Yakima, visiting her granddad."

"Well, don't you have anyone else you can call?"

"Wendy, but she's spending the day with her boyfriend." And Sam wished that the nub would seriously stop asking questions. Because the truth was, beyond Carly, she didn't trust anyone else. Wendy was a good friend, sure, but when push came to shove, she wasn't too sure if Wendy'd stick around.

Sam Puckett, didn't have friends. She had followers, but friends were rare.

"I suppose we can go to Gibby's," Freddie suggested slowly as if he were somehow scared of her reaction.

"Gibby's? I don't think I've heard of that place before. Do they have ribs?"

He looked at her like she grew an extra arm. Well, chiz. An extra arm would be _awesome_. "Gibby?" he said, even slower this time. Right. Like that would help him make more sense. "My best friend?"

"No bells a-ringing."

"You like giving him wedgies?"

"I like giving wedgies in general."

"He likes taking his shirt off?"

"Ooooh." Yup. Definitely conjured up a visual she did _not_ want to have. "No, thank you."

"No, thank you?" he repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She readjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and brushed the hair from her forehead. Then, she started walking away. She liked walking away. She was good at that. Usually, though, people didn't have the guts to follow after her. Except she should really start to learn that the dipthong didn't act like everyone else and shouldn't be surprised when he began falling into step with her.

"Listen, can you forget about your 'reputation' for a second and be logical about this instead?"

"How about Skybucks?" she said determinedly. There was no way she was going to end up at the house of shirtless freak. No. Way. Plus, she caught him a couple of times hanging around Build-A-Bra. That was _not_ right.

"Too noisy. Plus, that requires money that I don't want to spend."

"Saving up for Valentine's Day with Carly?"

He threw his hands up in the air. "Will you stop deflecting?"

"I will as soon as I figure out what you that means, grandpa!" Sam yelled, once again bringing a little disorder to Seattle.

He frowned. "Look, Gibby's place is awesome. He has this super cool set-up in his room and they have high speed wireless internet..." She shot him a disparaging look. What an awful nubby salesman. "And all the Fat Cakes and Peppy Cola that you can consume?" That's more like it.

"Fine. Lead the way, your Geekiness." She ignored the glare he gave her. Her phone in her back pocket had vibrated and she pulled it out to see who the message was from.

It was from her mom.

_Your father called. Said he wanted to speak to you soon._

Oh chiz.

...

**Author's Note:**

Thank you for all those who have reviewed! Y'all are awesome! :] And a shout-out to Bacon because Bacon doesn't have an ffdotnet account so I have no way of sending Bacon a message of thanks for Bacon's reviews who has been reviewing since my first story. Hee. :D Bacon! Also to Butterfree, who never fails to lend some insight into what I write and I've always appreciated that.

Also, drink responsibly!

Oh, and man, my chapters are getting longer.

**iLost My Mind promo anyone?** First of all, AUGUST? Someone please tell me that that was a joke. Second of all, eek! Two kisses. Seddie overload :D Third and last, this totally eclipsed iParty with Victorious which did nothing to sate my Seddie cravings. I have my own theories on what happens but yeah. I'll just wait :/ Balls.

Songs: First Love by Adele, Let It Be Me by Ray LaMontagne, Cornerstone by Artic Monkeys (has anyone listened to their latest album? While I'm still a fan, I do miss their sound from the first two albums. The first one had been epic and Flourescent Adolescent? C'mon!)


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four: Now You're All Gone.**

"C'mon, Gibby!"

Freddie watched as Gibby slammed his locker shut and started walking to their AV club meeting. It'd been this way since that Saturday at Gibby's house. If there was one thing that Freddie learned from years of attending Ridgeway, it was that he knew when he was being ignored. And his best friend was definitely ignoring him.

"Aren't you taking this a little too far with the silent treatment?" He'd figured it out yesterday, Sunday, when he was calling Gibby to ask a question regarding one of their assignments. Freddie had been at this all day, following Gibby around, trying to break his best friend down bit by bit.

"Are you serious?" Gibby finally answered and Freddie did a little mental fist pump for getting his best friend to speak to him again. "First, you invite _evil incarnate_ into my home. My sanctuary. The only place I feel completely safe and you ruined that with her presence! I thought I was going to have a heart attack when I opened the door and saw her standing there with her lustrous blonde locks and her devilish blue eyes. I thought she was there to _kill me_. Do you know what that's like?" His eyes had a slightly wild look in them. "I thought I was going to die!"

"But you didn't die," Freddie pointed out, "In fact, you're in one whole breathing piece. Pretty much in the same state that we saw you when we got there. Free of bruises and wedgies! Now that I think about it, I don't even remember the last time Sam gave you a wedgie."

"Two years, three months, fifteen days ago. Right after last period. It was a Friday. She was 'feeling bored'." Gibby looked at him in triumph before he started walking away.

"Okay... That was remarkably accurate," Freddie mumbled to himself before catching up with Gibby. "But you have to admit that Saturday turned out to be pretty fun. I mean, sure, she beat us at Halo and then started to kinda rub it in our faces and called us names... But it was fun! And she's also the reason why we got to go to Missy's party. Kinda. Sorta. Anyway, wasn't Saturday fun?"

Gibby narrowed his eyes. "Okay. Maybe... kinda. But, second! My home, my _sanctuary_, has become a den of criminal activity!"

Freddie quickly motioned his friend to turn the volume down so as not to attract attention to them. "Criminal activity? Prank calling Ms. Briggs is not a crime. It's not like we called 911 or the police. It's Ms. Briggs! If anyone deserves to be prank called, it's her!"

"All right, fine. I'll give you that." Gibby paused. "However! Third! She ate me out of house and home! My mother thought some hungry burglar broke into our house and stole all our food!"

"I'm really sorry about that. I really am, man. But that's not gonna happen again. I promise."

Gibby scoffed. "Right. Because you, her chemistry tutor, have so much control over her."

"Believe it or not, she does listen to me. Sometimes. When she feels like it." That wasn't a very winning argument, admittedly. "She's not that bad, Gibby. I mean, I saw you laughing, too, you know. You can't deny that." He really couldn't. Freddie had pictures on his phone. Okay. That sounded weird. But he just has this thing for documenting things with his camera.

Thankfully, Freddie could see that Gibby was close to cracking. Just a tiny bit more pushing.

"Fourth! Why didn't you tell me that you've been tutoring Sam in Chemistry? I'm your best friend."

Or maybe not.

Freddie could see the hurt in his friend's eyes. He really hadn't thought about why he had yet to tell Gibby. It did slip his mind and now, seeing how disappointed his best friend was, Freddie knew that it was an awful excuse. But how was he to explain Sam? Gibby was clueless to the entire story. He didn't know how Freddie hadn't initially wanted to help the blonde menace out. He couldn't even explain why he gave in because with or without Carly's divine intervention, he would have given in anyway. And maybe... a part of him was a little worried that Gibby would feel betrayed. Freddie hadn't realized that by not telling his best friend, he achieved the same terrible result.

"I'm sorry," Freddie said, unsure if there were any other words that could make the situation better. It felt very much like a 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' type of deal and damned didn't feel all that good.

"Did you even think about telling me?"

The single moment of hesitation led Gibby to throw his hands up in the air and stomp the rest of the way to the auditorium where the meeting was going to be held. Oh chiz.

"C'mon, Gibby!" Square one. That's where he's at. Also, standing alone in the middle of the hallway. "Aw, man."

The AV club meeting ends up being a rather morose event what with the Vice President (Gibby Gibson) very unwilling to even acknowledge the President (Freddie Benson). Suffice to say, things were uncomfortable, nothing was properly discussed and everyone left the meeting little bewildered by what could have caused the evident rift between the best friends. That, and they were also relieved that they didn't have to deal with the awkwardness anymore. It was noted, however, that Freddie was looking rather forlorn and this seemed to have Gibby looking rather vindicated. But all that was forgotten in the midst of gossip over the fresh graffiti in the girls' bathrooms about a certain Jonah's _little jonah_.

They were in the middle of putting away the equipment from the less than successful meeting. It was only slightly less tense but Freddie figured that he should probably be honest with his best friend once last time before they left for whatever after-school thing the other had. "Listen, I don't know how long we're gonna be doing this silence thing," because the last time Freddie did something that caused Gibby not to talk to him was when he made a disparaging comment about liquid soap and that was probably nowhere near what he did now, "But I _am_ sorry. And I'm not just saying that so you'll forgive me. I really am sorry, Gibby."

Gibby sighed. "Yeah, all right. I don't wanna be a girl over this. So..."

"So?" Freddie repeated hopefully.

"We're good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Freddie. You're my best friend even when you are a jackass."

Freddie nodded. "I deserve that."

"Hell yeah," Gibby chucked a cable at him, probably aiming for his malfunctioning head, "No more surprises, all right? Or at least, none of the big ones. Because damn it, Freddie! You can't do that to me again. You need to give me proper warning for these things. So I can... I don't know. Get all my post-apocalyptic gear ready or something. The girl is worse than a herd of zombies."

Freddie chuckled, happy to agree to anything that would have his best friend talking to him again. "You've nothing to worry about. Sam's mom will be away until Wednesday so we'll be hanging at her place in the meantime."

"Sam Puckett," Gibby muttered, zipping his bag up. "Unbelievable. _Unbelievable_. What were you even thinking when you agreed to _that_?"

Uh. Freddie stopped short. He wasn't sure if the deal he struck with Sam was included in Gibby's list of 'big ones' but Freddie figured that it would be best to just get everything out in the open. No matter how embarrassing the admission may prove to be.

"She said she'd help me out with Carly."

Gibby's hand (and hence, bag) paused halfway to his shoulder, his forehead scrunched up in puzzlement. "Help you out?" he asked slowly.

"Yeah."

"As in... setting up the two of you on a date?"

"No," Freddie replied. "Not exactly."

"She's not gonna kidnap Carly Shay and deliver her to your doorstep, is she?"

"What? No!" Freddie exclaimed, rather scandalized with the idea. Sure, he liked the girl but that was a bit barbaric. People aren't counted as spoils of war anymore. And besides that wouldn't even work since Carly lived right across the hall from him so technically his doorstep was pretty much her doorstep. Anyway. "Where'd you even get that idea?"

"I don't know!" Gibby's backpack finally made its way onto his shoulders. "It sounds like something Sam Puckett would do."

It did, actually.

"She's going to give me... Carly Lessons."

Gibby shot him a curious look. "Why does that sound like you want to _be_ Carly Shay instead of engaging in whatever lascivious plans you have with her?"

"I do not have lascivious plans!" Freddie exclaimed indignantly. "And why do you keep saying their names like that? Sam Puckett. Carly Shay. It's just Sam and Carly."

"Why do I take off my shirt? Why do I like liquid soap?" Gibby lifted his shoulders in a small shrug. "I don't know why I do the things I do."

As they walked out of the auditorium together, Freddie told Gibby about the strange encounter he had earlier that day. After second period, Gary Wolf had approached him, saying that he had heard from Griffin that Sam was getting help in chemistry from Freddie. Upon confirming the news, Gary asked if _he_ could sit in during the tutoring sessions and though Freddie didn't recall hearing that the guy was having problems in the subject, he agreed. What else was he supposed to do? Gibby found it equally curious but Freddie figured that Gary was a good guy and if a good guy needed help, you help him.

They waved goodbye to each other outside the school building and went their separate ways, Freddie heading over to the Pucketts. The Pucketts. There was something lethargic in visiting what was a childhood haunt. He'd spent many afternoons in their backyard once upon a time. When they were eight, Sam's dad decided that it would be a good idea to put the big tree to good use and build his daughter a tree house. It became their fort, their castle to defend against evil hordes. The evil hordes being her mother who had wanted to get rid of the tree that was right smack in the middle of their backyard. But Sam was never one to give in. She had stuck misspelled signs to the trunk about saving nature and how God wouldn't like people to kill trees _just because_. The Pucketts home had been his second home. But things change. People change. (And some of them leave.)

From the sidewalk, he could see the tree's leafy branches peeking out from the side of the Puckett home. His steps were hesitant and heavy as he made his way to the front door. He didn't feel nostalgia. No. He felt a little sick in the stomach. Now that he's standing there, hand poised to knock do more (important) memories flood his mind. The ones that reminded him why they were no longer friends, why he no longer wanted to see her, why she no longer called him over to play. He hopped off the porch and went to the side of the house. The white-washed wooden gate still stood menacingly as it guarded the garden from trespassers. Menacingly when he had been seven, maybe. But now that he was older, he appreciated the irony that it would only take his library card to flip open the catch on Sam Puckett's gate. The gate swung open soundlessly and he proceeded without a second thought.

The lawn was meticulous. Seriously. The grass was cut short with no weeds as far as he could tell. Everything was trimmed and manicured and there was even some sort of flower growing along the edges of the backyard. Gardening had been more of a Mr. Puckett thing and Freddie had always thought that with Sam's dad leaving, everything would fall into disarray (because, really, Mr. Puckett had always been the sensible of the two). Apparently, not so.

Freddie walked toward the tree and saw that the wood pieces they'd hammered onto the trunk to serve as a makeshift ladder were still there. The tree seemed smaller somehow but maybe because he was bigger now. Carefully, he tested out the first step and it held rather well. So did the rest of them, he noted, as he climbed to the top, pushing the trap door open. The inside of the tree house wasn't at all like he remembered it being. For one thing, it was cramped. For another, it was empty. Gone were the mess of the toys on the floor and the small chest that used to be filled with their treasure (a rock that looked like Elvis, a broken door knob from the alleged haunted house down the street, the first baseball Freddie caught without fumbling). It was bare except for the pictures that were stuck to the wall, painted or drawn by Sam while they were growing up. But the paper had yellowed, a clear sign of time having passed and Freddie's heart—

"Hey, pervert!"

Freddie had a heart attack. Well, almost. Snooping around wasn't exactly what one would call a noble exploit. He turned around and saw Sam leaning out of her bedroom window, smirking at him. He forgot that her the tree house directly faced her room.

"I wasn't looking through your window," he reasoned lamely, "I was just looking around the tree house. I see you cleaned it out."

Sam shrugged. "My works of art are still there."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"I like to call it," she paused for dramatic effect, "My _Fredwardian_ period."

Freddie laughed. "Nice. So you what part are you on now?" He was genuinely surprised and quite pleased when she told Freddie her progress with the notes he had given Sam. "That's awesome, Sam. Really. It looks you might be developing study habits from this. Did you see the the copy of time schedule that I placed between the pages? I really think—"

A balled up piece of paper hit Freddie right between the eyes.

"I guess that answers that question," he muttered.

...

Sam had her door and windows shut and her music playing _very_ loudly to drown out her mother who was back from her trip. She was badgering Sam with unrelenting questions about fathers and returned phone calls and edible underwear. The first two were sore subjects and the last one shouldn't even be a question a mother would ask her daughter. But then how was she to know how a typical mother-daughter relationship worked? The closest she'd witnessed to something that seemed like the ideal family unit was Spencer and Carly and they had a mother who passed away and an absentee father so... Yeah. Whatever.

Her day had been rough. Mr. Henning had reminded Sam of her perilous standing in his class. Seriously unappreciated. This was immediately followed by Gary Wolf thinking that it would be okay to keep talking to her, following Sam until they reached her locker. It took opening her locker door and a shoving her head inside of the tiny space for him to understand that she wasn't in the mood to talk. Didn't they already talk enough during tutorings with the nub? After a particularly brutal soccer practice, she had begged off tutoring with Fredward so that she could just go home and rest. Plus, he had just gotten out of the honors club and he literally reeked of geek.

Her mobile rang, interrupting what little peace she had and with a groan she lowered the music volume and answered the phone.

"What are you doing home?" her best friend asked from the other end of the line, all perky and exhibiting typical Carly behavior.

"Avoiding people." Sam didn't bother to ask how Carly knew she was home.

"Oh, Sam," she replied as if Sam had a made a joke. This was how their friendship survived: with Carly only believing the very best of Sam and thinking that all her sarcastic and mean retorts were just 'jokes' aimed to amuse rather than hurt.

"No, seriously, Carly," Sam muttered into the phone as she hugged her pillow to her chest. "I don't feel like seeing people right now. Mom's back home from her trip and I'd really rather not hear about her delightful anecdotes about who-and-who and whatnot. Remember the last time she came home from one those trips?" Carly chuckled. "I was _scarred_, Carls. No mother should tell their daughters stories like that. It should be illegal. I should've gone to therapy or something."

"Who knew real estate brokers knew how to party it up so much?"

"_Carly_."

"Okay, okay, enough mom talk. Gawd knows I've _nothing_ to contribute to this discussion."

"Wow. Way to make me feel better, Shay."

Carly giggled. "I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. It's so easy to make you feel guilty sometimes."

There was a small pause in the conversation and Sam glanced at her wall clock. 6:00PM. Time was moving freakishly slow for some reason.

"Hey, are you sure you don't wanna meet up or anything? Imma buy you a smoothie," Carly singsonged, "You know you want a free smoothie! Because it's free! And it's food!"

"Go bug your boyfriend!"

"I can't!"

Sam sighed and sat up in bed. "And why is that?"

"Because he isn't around, okay? Now come outside!"

Oh chiz. Sam hated it when Carly did that. Now that she knew that her best friend was waiting for her outside, Sam was practically obligated to make an appearance. "Fine!" she spat into the phone before tossing it into her bag. Sam had her ear pressed against her bedroom door as she pulled on her sneakers. Silence. Hopefully that meant that her mother had reacquainted herself with a bottle of wine and was passed out on the living room sofa. It wasn't the common occurrence it had once been when she was younger and the desertion of her father was still fresh. Although it did help out a bit when Sam wanted to sneak out of the house. Like now, for instances.

Carefully shutting the door behind her, Sam made her way downstairs as silently as she could manage. Thankfully, her mother was nowhere near the foyer, but she was still cautious as she slipped out the front door. Carly was parked in front of the house. Where her mother was. Leaning over the open passenger side window. Talking to her best friend.

"Oh, here she is!" her mother announced as soon as she spotted Sam. "You didn't tell me you were going out tonight!"

Sam shrugged as she trudged toward them. Carly flashed her an apologetic smile. Yeah, like a smile was going to make _this_ better. "Just going out for smoothies, mom."

"Is that what you kids are calling it these days?" Oh look, people. Pam Puckett: the comedienne.

No, thanks.

Sam rudely opened the car door, effectively pushing her mother away from the vehicle. "You can run over her for all I care," she muttered to Carly while her mother was going on about her own wild high school days. "That's information that I consider damaging to my formative years, _mother_." This she said a little louder for the benefit of her mom.

And look, it wasn't like she hated her mother. Really. She loved her mother. The woman gave birth to her after all. Despite the slump that occurred when Sam's father abandoned her, there was a shining moment when Pam Puckett decided she wasn't going to let herself be beaten by the lemons that life had thrown at her. So she worked to get her real estate license, strove to be (somewhat) a better mother and took up ballroom dancing. The last thing was something Sam could do without as that had resulted in more stories about the sensuality of latin dance and... Just stuff that shouldn't be repeated.

Besides, her mother knew her. Crazy, right? Because Sam and her mother were entirely too alike for their own good. For example, that filter that came between the brain and the mouth? Neither one of them actually had that. Who the hell thought that something like that would be hereditary? But whatever. When she said chiz to her mom, they both knew that Sam didn't mean half of it. Most of the time.

"Whatevs, babe." Her mother had the gall to roll her eyes at Sam, which earned a giggle from Carly. "Okay, okay. I know when I'm not wanted. At least I have a bottle of pinot that wants to spend time with me."

Mother and daughter exchanged more words before Sam and Carly were finally on the road, headed for Groovy Smoothie. It had been a couple of weeks since they last went, what with the grueling soccer practices (now combined with tutoring) and Carly seemed to be perpetually attached to Griffin's hip (among other parts of his body—_ew_). So the blonde and brunette welcomed the bright interior of the store and even T-Bo's poor salesmanship as he tried to get them to buy pickles on a stick.

"So..." Carly had that look on her face that Sam knew very well. It was her serious face. Sam hated the serious face. "Your mom told me that your dad's been trying especially hard recently to talk to you. I know you've never returned his phone calls before but maybe he has some important news or something?"

Sam took a break from sipping her smoothie. "Meh." She reattached her lips to her straw.

"Meh?"

"Meh," she repeated.

"_Sam_."

"Really, Carly, whining does not make you more attractive. Now let me enjoy my smoothie in peace."

"Well, I bought that smoothie so I can take it back whenever I want."

Damn logic.

Sam wasn't prepared to lose the wonderful taste of strawberries and groaned as she waved her hand at her best friend, signaling her defeat. She did not enjoy the smug look on Carly's face one bit.

"Just listen to what he has to say."

"I don't want to."

Carly sighed. "Your dad's wanted to see you since forever, Sam. Don't you think it's finally time that you give him a chance?"

"The guy left us. Me and mom." Sam stared at her cup, idly stirring the straw around. "We were a family and he threw it all away, Carly. You don't understand what it feels like. I know your mom died and that sucks in a really, really bad way. But she didn't leave because she wanted to. My dad? He left because he wanted to, he left because he didn't want us and that hurts." Ah, chiz. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and Sam didn't really do tears. So she took a deep breath and went back to slurping her drink.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she heard Carly mumble after a few moments of silence. "But do you honestly think that your family would be happy if he stayed?"

The automatic response would have been a resounding 'yes' but...

"I don't know. And I don't want to think about it."

_No_. Deep inside, she knew the answer was 'no'.

"Okay, fine. But," Carly held her hand up when Sam groaned in frustration, "I'm just going to just say this one last thing then we won't talk about it again."

"Promise?"

Carly nodded.

"No no _no_. A nod isn't going to cut it, Shay. We gotta ankle shake on this one."

Carly did not appreciate making a spectacle of herself, Sam knew, which made it all the more rewarding. If Sam was going to have to sit through her best friend's monologue about giving douchey fathers a second chance, she'd have to be amused about something. Or else she just might punch Carly. Seriously. Her fists have a mind of their own.

"All right... are you even listening?" Carly snapped her fingers to get Sam's attention once they were again seated. "I don't want you to regret anything."

They stared at each other for a few moments, both playing with their straws.

"That's it?" Sam asked, impatiently breaking the silence. "That's the big statement that was going to get me to reconnect with my father? Huh. I'm beginning to think that you don't know me at all!"

Carly huffed. "You think I didn't get abandoned by a parent? My father is... Well, it's classified and it's somewhere that isn't here. And yeah, I realize that that's not the same because you feel like your father didn't choose you. But sometimes it feels like my dad chose this country instead of me and that hurts, too. But I can choose to either accept it or build up resentment over it." She shrugged lightly. "I don't like resentment. It makes me feel dirty. Besides, I don't want to ruin whatever relationship I have with my dad because in the end, I'll always be his daughter. I'll always want to be his daughter."

Sam opened her mouth then closed it around her straw, making sure to take a long and loud sip of her smoothie. She hated it when Carly layered on the guilt but she couldn't let her best friend see her resolve begin to flounder. It was obvious that her earlier statement was completely off. Carly knew her too well. Sucked.

"Well?"

Sam groaned. "Well, what?"

"At least give yourself the option of having him be a part of your life." Carly was trying so hard and Sam loved her best friend so much for it. Really she did. She just wished that the conversation would end soon because her hands were itching. Like in a bad itch kind of way.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I'll consider it."

Carly squealed with delight. "One phone. What could it hurt, really?"

Me, Sam wanted to say. She didn't know if she could handle what her father had to say, although a part of her was undeniably curious. Why was he persistently trying to get into touch with her now? A chizload of possibilities were flying through Sam's mind. He wasn't dying, was he? Like, had some terminal illness or something that was pushing him to try harder than ever to talk to her? She hoped that wasn't it. The dude was her dad and... maybe that still meant something somehow.

"How about you call him now?"

"I think you've forgotten our ankle swear, Carly!"

"I just—"

"_No_."

"C'mon, I—"

"Again, no."

"But I—"

"Carlota!"

"Fine!"

Oh chiz.

Sam needed to talk to Benson. And it won't be about a chemistry question.

...

**Author's Note**:

Wheee! Thank you so much for all your reviews! You guys are awesome! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the others! *fingers crossed!*

This is a bit of a filler chapter. I did want to tackle Freddie and Sam's other relationships, to lend a little more insight into their lives. Erm. Seeing as how this is an AU, I've scrapped Melanie. So yeah. No twin for Sam.

I know some are curious to know when the Seddieness is going to happen. I am, too! :D But in all seriousness, we're about a third of a way through the story and things need to happen first before they even think about getting together. Namely, the Carly obsession. Oh, and why they stopped being friends which will definitely be addressed in the next chapter!

Song: Boys Do Fall In Love by Robin Gibb (OMG80sGASP) On repeat. Brainsplode. Zawwesome.

P.S. I decided to dabble in the Victorious fandom. Which may or may not be about a zombie apocalypse. Which may or may not explain the delay of this chapter. Actually, being busy in general is the explanation for the delay. But do not worry. This story is my first priority! :] and I am determined to keep up with updating this ficcy!

P.P.S. pandaz hai—funniest thing I had to type into the recaptcha thing.


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